


the danger's in the bending

by actualflower



Series: character studies: mortality and bonds. [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, i'm here 4 it always, it's chill, she's just here to maintain balance and kill liches guys, surrendering yourself to the altar of the goddess of death, welcome to your new life as champion vax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualflower/pseuds/actualflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the raven queen is patient. </p><p>vax comes when he is called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the danger's in the bending

**Author's Note:**

> edit: OKAY SO THE THING HAPPENED???? and i gotta say, matt mercer, u make me wanna be a better writer bc HOLY SHIT that was CREEPY AF and i LOVED IT. raven queen for weirdest creepy shifty death goddess ever i love it so much
> 
> i probably... won't be rewriting this? mostly because i don't think i could do better than what matt mercer gave us, it was so good. i'll leave this here as a little thought-bubble of what-could-have-been<3 thank u for reading, lovelies~

the raven queen sits and waits in her black hall. she is death. she is in no rush. 

everything comes to her, in the end.

the rogue appears in her temple, alone. none come to death with another, not even those brought into life with another. death is a uniquely solitary experience.

she watches his heart beat in his chest. his heels are soft against the polished marble of her hall. even now, he moves like he can evade her.

her priestesses walk her halls, heads bowed, robes whisper-silent as they glide against the floor. he is unsettled, she can feel it - the way his hand snaps to his belt as afterthought, though he is safer in her domain than in any other. he does not know this, yet. he will in time.

the pool glitters in the candlelight. he kneels and prays in the fumbling way of a child, or someone unused to prayer, or both. she is ageless. everything is a child. still, he is just, and he wears her raiment even now. she feels the tug of supplication asking for her manifest, and the thread burns bright as she follows it to the boy. the rogue. her champion.

she is resplendent, then - raven’s feathers cloak her shoulders, porcelain-white face placid and implacable, hair sliding past her shoulders like an oil-slick. her dress is liquid darkness, and her fingers drip blood red. they are the only stain of color in the temple, save the boy. 

he gasps. she does not pretend to relish it. she has patience for much, but no patience for pretense. she strips away lies like old paint, makes honest men of thieves - 

she looks at the boy before her, and sees everything he could become, if only through her guiding hand.

“it has been long since a champion has walked these halls.” a pause. “longer still since a man has donned my mantle.” vax’ildan is still kneeling. she would see him stand, if he were to be her avatar in this realm. a single finger on the soft flesh underneath his chin, making his eyes raise and pulling him up, up. “rise, champion.” 

in this hall, you are death, too, she thinks, and lets the thought sink into his mind without it being spoken.

her servants gather where they stand, every priestess bowed in prayer, but every focus trained on her. she motions one long, red finger, feeling the red drip with the motion and sink into the pool beneath her feet. one leaves and returns, extends a black-ribboned box to the champion before her. it is long, and thin, and he knows just what it is before he takes it in his hands, weighs the box like a scale. she wonders if it feels heavy, the life of his sister in his hands.

the bow inside it is beautiful, shining ebony and brilliant silver with a bowstring taut enough to cut an untrained finger. a single, sparkling gem rests just below the grip, and it glows with dull black light inside the onyx. just like a promise.

_this is the olive branch, boy._

_take it._

“what do you need me to do?” he is breathless and resigned. he is everything she needs him to be in this moment, broken pottery perfect for the mending. he has been broken. now, the bone must be set to heal.

she steps back from the pool, steps off of the black water without a ripple touching the surface. a hand, extended. 

the bow returns to the box, to the supplicant’s hands, to the shadows from where it came.

he takes her hand.

the darkness swallows him whole.

_(he has tasted death before, seen it flutter just before his eyes, flirted with its edges like a lover, but never has it swallowed him whole, eaten him alive and flayed him apart, weighed and measured and quartered like stock, every part of him laid bare for her to see, all part and parcel. nothing is held back. she is beyond shame. she is beyond life. she is beyond death. she is holding his heart in her hands and watching it beat, pulling it apart in her grip, tasting its flesh with her brilliantly white teeth, now stained red - it is too much, he is not enough, he will not be judged worthy -_

_she pulls her hand from his grip, and he does not think again for a long time.)_

he wakes. she is not surprised. she had judged him worthy long before he traded his life for his dear sister’s. he gasps like a fish, and the look that flashes through his eyes reminds her of all who have stood in his place before him. her armor shines in the flickering torchlight - it changes for every champion, and she drinks in the subtle differences, looks at the way death has become the next weapon in his arsenal. it wreathes around him in a way that makes her feel more powerful than she has in centuries. 

“you have tasted death, my champion. it is part of you, forever.” how does it feel, she does not ask. she knows. she has tasted death since long before the memories of any living creature, and will taste it until death can come for no other creature save herself.

he looks at his fingers, clenches unclenches clenches them. he looks into her eyes with fire like life, and she smiles.

“i am yours, my lady.”

**Author's Note:**

> pffft? weird poetic-ish shit? about vax accepting his role as the Champion of the Raven Queen?
> 
> i just have lots of RQ feels. i like her. she's chill.
> 
> also proper capitalization? serious storytelling? pfft, i'm just here to do weird rambly character-studies-that-dont-really-study-anything-except-my-weird-thoughts-about-LN-death-goddesses.
> 
> title from 'Little Mercy' by Doomtree (listen to all of their music its GR8)
> 
> talk 2 me abt the raven queen @ ppepperbox.tumblr.com!


End file.
